Ron rushed through his supper the following evening, made a flimsy excuse to the twins, who weren't bothered anyway, and rushed off to the empty classroom Cedric had mentioned. He didn't even look for Cedric as he passed the Hufflepuff table, but of course he already knew he was there. It was impossible, these days, for Cedric to enter a room without Ron taking notice.

He had no idea whether Cedric would still meet him, after what had happened behind the curtain the night before, and especially after that cow Rita Skeeter had run her article and not mentioned Cedric at all. If there was even the slightest chance, though, he had to be there. He would wait all night, even skip his detention with Snape and hang the consequences, if necessary.

As it turned out, it almost was necessary. Ron was sure he was there over an hour, growing colder and more bored, and simultaneously more and more aroused at the possibility that Cedric might turn up at last. He was starting to consider locking the door and wanking in the corner so he wouldn't have to walk back to Gryffindor with this giant, obvious bulge in his robes, when the door creaked open and Ron caught his breath.

Cedric's face broke into a shining grin when he saw Ron waiting there. Ron felt suddenly naked and exposed, despite his layers of clothing, when Cedric's hungry eyes raked over him.

Without a word, Cedric closed and locked the door, then crossed the room in a few, long strides and tackled Ron back onto the large desk on which he'd been sitting. Ron was still trying to catch his breath while Cedric was snogging the life out of him, tearing both of their clothes in the hurry to get them out of the way, plunging his hand into Ron's pants and tugging forcefully so that Ron barked out a harsh cry of pleasure and surprise and impatience. Cedric's devious grin captured Ron's attention for the moment it took before both shirts were wide open, t-shirts pushed up to necks and trousers and pants down to knees, and Cedric's hands were pinning Ron's hands up by his head, and his hips were - oh Merlin, yes, more, ohhh - digging against Ron's, rubbing and slipping in the increasing moisture, and Ron was trying to find some purchase for his heels on the too-short desk so he could thrust back against Cedric, and the heat of their bare skin together was boiling his brain, he was sure, because there was nothing he could think but to latch his lips and teeth to the side of Cedric's perfect, strong neck, and buck as best he could, weeping in frustration as Cedric pounded against him, until finally, finally, finally, something snapped in his head and he felt himself release, and felt Cedric pound harder for the minute or two until he, too, fell quiet.

Time stayed still for a long time, nothing moving but Cedric's chest against Ron's as they both breathed slowly in the dry, draughty classroom. Cedric's hands slowly relaxed, but never entirely let go of Ron's wrists, so Ron didn't feel invited to wrap his arms around Cedric's hard, muscular back. Instead, Ron buried his nose in the warm place by Cedric's ear and breathed him in, letting himself take note of every inch of his body that was touching some part of Cedric's, hoping impossibly that this would not be the last time, because he'd waited too long for this all to happen so fast and to end.

As though hearing Ron's thoughts, Cedric raised his head and looked at him.

"You haven't told anyone, have you?" he asked him, calmly but bluntly.

Ron shook his head, eyes wide.

"Good," said Cedric, softening his expression into something gentler, like a smile. "It's not that I'd mind, normally. It's only with all of this Triwizard business, and that Skeeter woman and the Prophet ... it could get difficult, you know?"

Ron nodded, feeling more and more stupid for his inability to keep up his end of the conversation, so he managed to cough out the word, "Yeah."

"Alright," said Cedric, with a widening grin. "Because if you can keep quiet about it, then maybe we could do this again, yeah?"

Ron could think of nothing to say to that, because his own wide grin had already made the answer for him.

And so they met, the next several nights. It started the same way, always, with Ron waiting and Cedric arriving a little late and attacking him, but each day they stayed a little longer and began talking. It was as though they were actually getting to know one another, becoming more than a couple of horny blokes but rather something like proper boyfriends.

Boyfriends. The very thought of actually being Cedric Diggory's boyfriend, after all these years, made Ron so happy that nothing else around him seemed to matter.

Ron was so excited, it was all he could do to remember to be grumpy through detention with Snape that first night, or that he was fighting with his best mate, so everyone else would be expecting him to spend all his time scowling and would think it odd if he were walking around with a stupid smile on his face.

Then everything went to bollocks, and it was all the fault of that stupid article.

Cedric always maintained that he didn't mind not being mentioned, and Harry kept walking around scowling and pretending he'd had nothing to do with it, and Hermione acted proud and above it all, and Malfoy was an even bigger git that usual, and Ron began to wish the whole Tournament had never happened.

One Saturday, nearly two weeks after the article had appeared, Ron had tromped off to Hogsmeade with his brothers. He'd seen Hermione in the village, but she'd mostly ignored him. He could tell by the way she kept talking out of the corner of her mouth, even when she appeared to be alone, that Harry was there with her, wearing his Cloak. Ron had tried not to care, distracting himself by watching Cedric laugh and joke, surrounded by admirers from Hufflepuff and even a few Ravenclaws. He wished he could be there, in his rightful place by Cedric's side, no matter how it would look for Harry Potter's best mate to be fawning over the competition. Ron assumed most people could tell he and Harry weren't speaking these days, anyway, and it drove him mad to watch all those giggling girls draping themselves over Cedric, and Cedric letting them, as though any bird could make him cry out and squirm the way he had the night before under the patient ministrations of Ron's mouth and hands.

That night, Cedric had showed up much later than ever before, looking not at all interested in taking off any of his clothes. Instead of tackling Ron, he'd stood quietly by the closed door and told him they couldn't go on. Ron had nodded and blinked back the stupid, childish tears that had tried to form, and half-heard Cedric explaining that this Skeeter woman was dangerously sneaky and Ron wasn't doing a good enough job of hiding his feelings and if Skeeter had even the slightest inkling what was going on with them, Cedric would be outed to the entire country, and it had to stop, now.

Ron wasn't sure what time he'd stumbled back to Gryffindor Tower, only that it had been a long time after Cedric had left before he'd been able to move at all. It couldn't have been that late, after all, though, because the common room was still half-full when he got upstairs. Hermione and Harry were conspiring about something in the corner - who knew, maybe they were shagging, anything was possible now that he was so out of the loop - so Ron passed them by and dragged himself up the stairs and into bed.

After closing the curtains, Ron lay awake for hours. He heard his dormmates come upstairs and get ready for sleep, but he didn't feel even slightly drowsy. He felt moderately nauseous and his head hurt, and he wanted very much to escape into slumber, but it simply wouldn't come.

More than anything, Ron wished he could talk to Harry about what had happened. It was one thing to be angry at Harry for excluding him, and to think Harry was being a right git for saying all that bollocks to that Skeeter cow to make everyone feel sorry for him, but now Ron needed his best mate, and nothing else seemed to matter as much as the fact that his heart was broken and the only one who had a chance of making it feel any better was right there in the next bed.

Only he wasn't.

After drawing his curtains aside, Ron sat in shock for a moment at seeing Harry's bed empty. It had to be after one in the morning, so where was he? Not shagging Hermione, Ron hoped. For all that Skeeter woman had made of it, and for all he was feeling forlorn and left out, Ron was pretty sure he knew both of his friends well enough to be sure that they didn't fancy each other in the slightest. If he was wrong about that, then maybe he really didn't know anything about his surroundings, after all.

Ron stole silently out of bed and crept down the stairs toward the common room. He heard a murmuring voice which, as he approached, sounded more and more like Harry's. He thought he heard another, deeper voice, so it clearly wasn't Hermione there with him, but then he stumbled slightly and landed heavily on the next two stairs, and everything went dead downstairs.

When he rounded the last turn of the spiral staircase and emerged into the room, Ron saw Harry hunched by the fire, glaring angrily up at him.

No one else was there.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked, feeling stupid and awkward. He'd wanted so much to find Harry, to talk to him about Cedric, but now Harry's face was twisted into an ugly scowl and Ron was suddenly certain that everything was ruined between them.

"What's that got to do with you?" Harry snarled, startling Ron into getting his own hackles up. "What are you doing down here at this time of night?"

His tone was so confrontational, so unwelcoming, that there was no chance Ron would be able to tell him what he'd come here to say. Ron took a deep breath to calm himself, trying to keep from making the situation any worse.

"I just wondered where you - " he tried, but it seemed useless, so he broke off, shrugging. "Nothing. I'm going back to bed."

Ron didn't even get a chance to turn around, though, before Harry shouted, "Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?" His eyes were bright with anger, shoulders set square as though preparing for an attack.

Ron had no idea what Harry was on about, but he'd had quite enough. All he'd wanted was to talk with his best mate about one of the worst things that had ever happened to him, and instead everything was getting more horrible by the moment.

"Sorry about that," he snapped, feeling his face go red. "Should've realised you didn't want to be disturbed. I''ll let you get on with practising for your next interview in peace." In his blind rage, he poured all of his anger and frustration and hurt into the word 'interview,' cracking it like a whip.

He'd barely had a chance to realise what he'd said, when Harry bent down, picked up one of those idiotic badges the Creeveys had been fooling with, and hurled it at Ron's face, striking him painfully in the forehead.

"There you go," crowed Harry. "Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky ... that's what you want, isn't it?"

Ron could only stand there, staring at him in shock. He and Harry had never so much as shoved each other except in jest, and now Harry was throwing sharp objects at his head, and striding angrily across the room toward him as though he were about to pound him, as well. But when he got to where Ron was standing, Harry only glared menacingly as though daring Ron to punch him, and stormed off up the stairs.

Still in shock, Ron failed to move so much as an eyelash for several more minutes. His forehead stung and felt as though it might be bleeding a bit. Why in Merlin's name would Harry think he'd want a scar? Did Harry think Ron was jealous? What could possibly have given him that idea? Ron knew Harry hated being famous ... or at least, he'd thought he knew that, before the Triwizard Tournament had come along. In any case, Ron never wanted to be famous like Harry was. Some recognition of some sort would be nice, sure, something to make him stand out as more than Bill or Charlie or Percy's kid brother, or Famous Harry Potter's best friend. But what good would it do him, then, having a scar just like Harry's?

Finally, after several minutes, Ron slowly began to collapse into the nearest chair. He sank low, thinking about Cedric and the Prophet and Hermione and Harry and everything he'd hated about this entire school year so far.

He wished he'd been wearing something more than his stupid, too-small maroon pyjamas, so that he could leave the Tower and try and find Cedric and beg him to give it another chance. He wished he had got better at Summoning Charms, so that he could steal Harry's Invisibility Cloak and sneak away, perhaps just leave Hogwarts completely and pretend this whole sodding year had never happened.

Ron drew his knees up to his face, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs. He tilted his head, resting one cheek on one of his knees, and stared into the fire until his eyes were seared by the brightness, and then he stared some more. Lacking any better ideas for what to do, he stayed there, curled in the chair, until the fire had burned down to embers and his joints were cold and stiff and the sky was even lightening slightly outside the windows.

Sure everyone would be asleep, he crept upstairs and hid himself inside the curtains of his bed. If he was lucky, no one would bother him all day.